he heard Jonah tell the waiter to bring eight specials.
‘Eight special, yes, Missa Bramble.’
When the waiter bowed and departed, Jonah sighed. ‘Missa Bramble. I never know if his English is really that bad or if he’s trying some kind of insult. Fred, it’s really
great
to see you. What brings you to New York? Stopping by on your way somewhere, or can you stay a while?’
Susan got her furious look, but said nothing. The waiterbrought bowls of very clear soup. Fred dipped his ceramic spoon into it and came up with what looked like a human ear.
‘Well, Jonah, I thought you asked me to come over.’
‘I did? What would I do that for?’
‘“British novels are hot,” you said. You promised some kind of “big breakthrough”.’
‘I was mistaken,’ Jonah said calmly. He smiled and shook his head, mightily amused at his own little error. ‘And you came all this way on my say-so.’
‘I thought you wanted me to talk to editors. Stir up interest in
Doodlebug.’
‘I once met Larry McMurtry,’ said Pseudo-Burroughs, to no one. ‘He was a real nice fella.’
Jonah sighed, scratched the site of a former breast, and started on his soup. After a moment, he said: ‘Well, we’ll have to see what we can do.’
A giant brown cockroach, the size and colour of a small cigar, was crawling up the wall. It took its time, knowing it was in safe territory. Fred hoped Susan would not see it.
She did see it, but she was not terrified. She was long past terror. A kind of numbness had taken over. By now, this hideous creature was about what she expected of the city.
When they got back to Allan’s flat, they had a fight about it. It began with Susan’s suggesting they go home.
‘Jonah lied to you or something. There’s nothing for us here. There isn’t even a public loo in the entire city. Or any place to sit down without paying money. Everyone wants to rob us or kill us.’
‘Tomorrow we’re going to this concert,’ he said. ‘Allan’s left us tickets. We’ll get in touch with the culture of this place, then you’ll see.’
The concert, at least, was a qualified ‘success. They took a taxi up some major street, lined with huge glowing buildings. This was the condition to which all American cities aspired, he knew – glowing pyramids of wealth and power. The glowthat somehow rubs off on anyone riding in a taxi. This time the ride was smooth; darkness hid all misery. The driver, who apparently spoke no English, was like a discreet chauffeur.
‘Do you know,’ Fred said, ‘when CBS fired an executive, they gave him four million dollars cash, plus four hundred thousand a year for life, and a suite of offices to use if he should ever feel like doing anything again? The offices could be in one of these buildings, I imagine.’
‘Obscene,’ she said.
‘But fascinating. That’s what New York is all about. No matter how miserable people are here, they’re near the high-stakes table in the big casino. They just might get a piece of the action.’
‘Pathetic.’ Her one-word replies somehow sized up everything he was saying and disposed of it.
‘I know, I know, but don’t you kind of feel it yourself? We might make it big in the Big Apple. Like the song says, if we can make it here …’
She yawned, not even bothering with the one word.
The concert was something called ‘Inner Spaces IV’. It combined Ruritanian flutes, synthesizers, dinner-gongs from the Raj days of India, an Andean nose-harp with wool strings, turkey bones, a bull-roarer, wind chimes, and recordings of wood-pigeons. Fred thought it sounded like the music in lifts. Susan liked it, because it helped her unwind.
‘They really need soothing music in their heads,’ she said. ‘They need something. This town –’
‘Just give it a few more days. We can try all the things the New Yorkers do: the Metropolitan Museum, Bloomingdale’s, the subway – hey, we could take the A train!’
‘Don’t be stupid. The song says it
‘Eight special, yes, Missa Bramble.’
When the waiter bowed and departed, Jonah sighed. ‘Missa Bramble. I never know if his English is really that bad or if he’s trying some kind of insult. Fred, it’s really
great
to see you. What brings you to New York? Stopping by on your way somewhere, or can you stay a while?’
Susan got her furious look, but said nothing. The waiterbrought bowls of very clear soup. Fred dipped his ceramic spoon into it and came up with what looked like a human ear.
‘Well, Jonah, I thought you asked me to come over.’
‘I did? What would I do that for?’
‘“British novels are hot,” you said. You promised some kind of “big breakthrough”.’
‘I was mistaken,’ Jonah said calmly. He smiled and shook his head, mightily amused at his own little error. ‘And you came all this way on my say-so.’
‘I thought you wanted me to talk to editors. Stir up interest in
Doodlebug.’
‘I once met Larry McMurtry,’ said Pseudo-Burroughs, to no one. ‘He was a real nice fella.’
Jonah sighed, scratched the site of a former breast, and started on his soup. After a moment, he said: ‘Well, we’ll have to see what we can do.’
A giant brown cockroach, the size and colour of a small cigar, was crawling up the wall. It took its time, knowing it was in safe territory. Fred hoped Susan would not see it.
She did see it, but she was not terrified. She was long past terror. A kind of numbness had taken over. By now, this hideous creature was about what she expected of the city.
When they got back to Allan’s flat, they had a fight about it. It began with Susan’s suggesting they go home.
‘Jonah lied to you or something. There’s nothing for us here. There isn’t even a public loo in the entire city. Or any place to sit down without paying money. Everyone wants to rob us or kill us.’
‘Tomorrow we’re going to this concert,’ he said. ‘Allan’s left us tickets. We’ll get in touch with the culture of this place, then you’ll see.’
The concert, at least, was a qualified ‘success. They took a taxi up some major street, lined with huge glowing buildings. This was the condition to which all American cities aspired, he knew – glowing pyramids of wealth and power. The glowthat somehow rubs off on anyone riding in a taxi. This time the ride was smooth; darkness hid all misery. The driver, who apparently spoke no English, was like a discreet chauffeur.
‘Do you know,’ Fred said, ‘when CBS fired an executive, they gave him four million dollars cash, plus four hundred thousand a year for life, and a suite of offices to use if he should ever feel like doing anything again? The offices could be in one of these buildings, I imagine.’
‘Obscene,’ she said.
‘But fascinating. That’s what New York is all about. No matter how miserable people are here, they’re near the high-stakes table in the big casino. They just might get a piece of the action.’
‘Pathetic.’ Her one-word replies somehow sized up everything he was saying and disposed of it.
‘I know, I know, but don’t you kind of feel it yourself? We might make it big in the Big Apple. Like the song says, if we can make it here …’
She yawned, not even bothering with the one word.
The concert was something called ‘Inner Spaces IV’. It combined Ruritanian flutes, synthesizers, dinner-gongs from the Raj days of India, an Andean nose-harp with wool strings, turkey bones, a bull-roarer, wind chimes, and recordings of wood-pigeons. Fred thought it sounded like the music in lifts. Susan liked it, because it helped her unwind.
‘They really need soothing music in their heads,’ she said. ‘They need something. This town –’
‘Just give it a few more days. We can try all the things the New Yorkers do: the Metropolitan Museum, Bloomingdale’s, the subway – hey, we could take the A train!’
‘Don’t be stupid. The song says it
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